But on St. John's mysterious night,Sacred to many a wizard spell,The time when first to human sightConfest, the mystic fern seed fell.I'll seek the shaggy, fern clad hill,Where time has delved a dreary dell,Befitting best a hermit's cell;And watch 'mid murmurs muttering stern, The seed departing from the fern,Ere watchful demons can convey,The wonder-working charm away,And tempt the blows from arm unseen,Should thoughts unholy intervene.